Attic Discoveries
by Dragon Claymore
Summary: One-Shot - Spencer needs to clean his attic before he moves in with Hotch.  He finds more than just dust bunnies.  H/R mentioned but not the focus.


Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, the characters from the show, etc. I am not making any money off the writing of this story.

* * *

><p>Our house is clean enough to be healthy, and dirty enough to be happy.<p>

~ Author Unknown

* * *

><p>Reid sighed as he surveyed the mess that was his attic. For the first time since he'd stored these boxes up here, it was finally time to go through everything. He was moving. He and Hotch had bought a place together. Somewhere they could raise Jack, and keep their relationship under the FBI radar. It was big enough that they could pretend to be roommates. That wasn't the point of today though, as much as he enjoyed the distraction his lover always bought, he needed to focus. He'd taken the day specifically to take on this task. Hotch was coming by after work with their favorite Mexican and other activities he needed to distract his over active mind from dwelling on.<p>

Coughing at the accumulated dust, he set down the lit lantern he'd brought up with him and carefully moved over to the one, small window in the attic. Opening it a crack to start getting fresh in there, he once again cursed odds that were against him. He wanted to open the window yesterday and have the space already aired out, but the rain had prevented that. At least it had quit overnight and he could open it today. ~_Probably would've had to push it back out another week otherwise, then we would've been out on a case, and I would be out of time before the move_~ he thought to himself. ~_Better to get this done now before Jack or Aaron comes across something…_~

He trusted his Aaron more than anyone, except his mother, but there were things that required explaining before he showed them to anyone. Sighing, he climbed back down the retractable stairs and grabbed the cleaning supplies he'd left in the hallway. Lugging up the vacuum didn't take as much effort as he remembered. ~_The days at the gym may actually be starting to pay off._ ~ He noted almost gleefully. He would never be Morgan or Aaron strong, but some extra muscle was rather nice. Moreover, the running and biking he'd picked up had helped with his headaches. Who would've guessed mold caused most of his headaches? The recycled air in the office, and the energy efficiency of modern houses that meant being sealed up, it was almost no wonder people had problems.

He just needed some good fresh air every day. Exercising outside, at least as long as it was above freezing, turned out to be more enjoyable than he'd ever imagined. He'd even taken to biking to work on the odd day. Morgan had teased him almost to no end the first time he'd arrived in the bullpen and noticed the bike helmet tucked away on top of his biking shoes.

**_FLASHBACK**_

'Pretty Boy, you takin' up biking?'

Reid had only nodded distractedly. He was in the middle of a consult and the detective had almost illegible handwriting. ~_Handwriting classes, why couldn't they include a handwriting course in the police and FBI academies, it would make things so much easier. 20,000 WPM is too fast for this bull. If they make those of us that don't care for technology use a computer and learn how to type, I'm going to recommend handwriting lessons be included too._~ Reid suppressed the desire to shove the file on the floor or make Morgan do it instead.

'Hey Kid, what's up?' Morgan called again. For once Reid didn't even think, he closed the folder and handed it to Morgan.

'This is now yours, enjoy.' Without another word, the younger profiler turned back to his desk and pulled the next file from his stack, flicking it open with a practiced move.

**_END FLASHBACK**_

Shaking himself from his memories, Reid noticed while his mind had been back at work, his body had taken up the cleaning task quite nicely. About a third of the area had the worst of the dust vacuumed up and the boxes were pushed back neatly in a line ready to be gone through one at a time.

Humming to himself while continuing to clean, he made quick work of the remaining area. The dust hadn't been quite as bad as the first section. He moved over to see why. Realizing he may not be able to fix the problem, but he should put his engineering PhD to good use and at least have a look. The central air fan kicked in and it didn't take long to figure out why the dust was worse. There was a leak in the pipe, a fairly significant one too. That would explain his increase in heating costs over the winter. He'd chalked it up to more people in the house and Jack's in-and-out while playing in the backyard. Obviously, it was a symptom and not a root cause as he'd thought.

He made a mental note to call Morgan and ask him to take a look. If it only needed a simple patch, he loathed to call in a professional for something he could do. Opening the first box he pulled out something soft wrapped in multiple shopping bags. Unwrapping them one-by-one he pulled out an old uniform.

Something he'd never revealed to the team, he'd gone to private school for years when he was a kid. He may have graduated from Las Vegas Public High School, but before his dad left, he'd been in private school. It was the one thing about his education both his parents had agreed about doing. With his mind, public school, given the ones in their area at the time weren't great, just wasn't a good option. He'd gone to an exclusive private school. The bullies there were simply sneakier and smarter than the ones he'd met in high school, but he'd at least had some kids around that were friendly or indifferent to him. His old uniform was a source of pride. While some kids had taken to pushing the limits, girls with the length of their skirts and the buttons on their blouse being undone, he'd made sure his clothing was to the letter of the instructions. Pants had a prefect crease right down the middle of his leg; his shoes shined enough to make a drill sergeant proud.

Setting aside the uniform, he reached back into the box and his hand met with a smaller box. Pulling out the shoebox, he opened it carefully. Inside laid various objects and an old school program. More memories flooded his mind. The one time he'd been on stage. He'd won the part of Dracula in a school play. Most of the parents had been appalled at the thought of someone so young handling such a major part but he'd thrown himself into it in a way he didn't do again until he reached the FBI academy.

His mother had been appalled that the classic had been watered down so much, but Spencer pointed out that most junior high school students could only do so much of it. They had to keep it to a PG level. He'd been so grateful he'd just hit a growth spurt before costumes had been sized. He hated to think of the poor mothers doing the costumes with the home economics class have to re-do his, once was enough. He shuddered at the memory of the fitting.

EVERYTHING was going to be made to measure for him and the rest of the main characters. At least the teachers had enough sense that having a female measure him just wasn't a good idea. His homeroom teacher was one of the few male teachers in the school and with the Home Economics teacher directing from halfway across the room, they managed to get the measurements with minimal fuss. However, Reid's face had retained a tinge of pink for days after.

It had been fun overall. Since he didn't need the time given to the students to memorize, the drama teacher worked with him on his movements and staging. Three days a week after school, they had worked on how to move and enunciate like Dracula. Admittedly, the first week had been a wonderful excuse to watch different Dracula movies. He got help from a few experienced stage actors thanks to the teacher's connections with a local theatre group.

At least the drama geeks left him alone when they saw he took things seriously. It also proved to be a shield from some of the bullies. Since he was at school late, they were gone by the time he left for the day. By the time the performance came around, he was as ready as he could be, though a bundle of nerves the whole day. The whole play was burned into his mind even without his eidetic memory. It had been such a rush.

He'd wanted to do it again the next year, but that was the summer his father had left. Nothing was the same after that, and he just couldn't devote the time to his pleasures anymore. He had to take care of his Mom.

With a sigh, he closed the smaller box, placing it back into the larger one. This whole box would need to come along. He made a mental note to go through it with Aaron, someday.

The next one was easy. All it contained was old dishes from his years at Caltech. They were old, second hand when he bought them. After being used by a teenager, no matter how responsible, they could go. Reid shoved the box over to the other side of the attic, mentally tagging that area as 'Give Away'.

Number three proved a challenge. Opening the slightly smaller box, he peered inside. He didn't recognize anything in it. At least when he said that, it carried a bit more weight than average. Pulling out books and what appeared to be wrapped knick-knacks. Another few small shoeboxes all in one layer revealed what appeared to be a photo album and under it was a larger, leather bound book. 'Carnighan' was embossed into the cover. This must be a box of his Mother's things. Carnighan was her maiden name. He carefully repacked the box and set it by the stairs, it would require far more careful inspection than he'd initially thought.

More easy boxes followed some going completely to the charity pile; others were resorted with some charity and some keeping. Still other boxes were full of things, memories that he carefully put to the other side of the attic. Those weren't going anywhere except with him. Down to the last two, He opened them to find a sealed envelope with his name on it sitting under a protective cardboard top layer. Ripping open the envelope, he pulled out a few sheets of medium sized writing paper.

The pages were still in good condition, so Spencer sat on the floor to read by the afternoon sunlight still filtering through the open window.

"_Dear Spencer,_

_I'm leaving this box of things packed here so maybe one day you can enjoy the items it contains. It amazes me that even at three you would rather read textbooks than play with toys or watch cartoons. You and your mother have such amazing minds, and I pray every day that you have not inherited her problems. _

_Life isn't easy and life with her has more vicissitudes than most relationships go through. She is an amazing woman, but you probably already know that. She had such a sparkle to her when we met. My favorite time with her was searching out obscure bookshops for her to go through, looking for that rare gem of a book. The look in her eyes when she found a treasure was one of such light and delight. _

_She even loved to go out dancing. Oh, we never went to the modern clubs with their "Sex crazed gyration that is hardly worth ones effort or time" but to older-style dance clubs. She and I could really 'cut a rug'. We would go to old big band nights and swing dance the night away. Most of those nights, they'd wind down the night with a few waltzes. Oh Spencer, your mother could move. I was the envy of most of the guys there. They would try to get a dance with her, and some would get one, but Diana never danced with them in the same way she danced with me. We would laugh and carry on like teenagers. Any and all problems we had seemed simply to leave us when we walked into the dance hall. _

_It hasn't been easy. Having you changed a great many things but we wanted you so badly. I don't know if we'll ever have the- _

there was a space on the page and what appeared to be faded dots. It seemed his Father had to think for a few minutes. Spencer continued; he couldn't not know what had happened to his parents.

_-courage, for lack of a better word, to tell you. You weren't our first child. _

Spencer had to pause again. He had SIBLINGS? Or at least one… A lump began to form in his throat. What had happened to the other or others? He stared out the window, trying to calm his racing mind. This was so not what he had expected to have to deal with today. Slowly, ever so slowly his mind calmed down and he turned his eyes back to the letter he held in his now shaking hand.

_Your Mother had a pregnancy before you. She was about 18 weeks along when something went wrong. The doctors never found a firm cause, but suspected it had to do with her medications. Her psychologist had assured us that, while it was a risk for her to be on the medications while pregnant, it wasn't a large enough risk to warrant taking her off them. She was so small when she arrived. They tried to stop the labor but even in the five years it's been, there have been so many advancements and I don't think they would've managed it even today. She simply wasn't meant to stay with us. They did find out that had she lived, she would've had numerous health problems. Among them, her pancreas was not developing as it should. It was almost certain she would have been a life-long type 1 diabetic. We grieved for her. In some ways, we still grieve her. We wish she could have stayed with us. She's buried in a child's crematorium in Spring Valley. We named her Sera Diana Reid. She was an angel that had returned to the Divine. _

_When we chose to try again, Diana went off her medications. She was determined that this time things would be different. We were both so aware of every little thing and scared, but hopeful. You were such an inquisitive baby. Even the nurses commented that when you were in the nursery, you were awake more than the other babies were, but not fussy. They thought perhaps you couldn't sleep and ran tests trying to figure out what was going on with you. There was nothing medically wrong so they tried draping a blanket over your crib to make it a bit darker, along with rocking you to sleep. _

_I still have to chuckle at the memory of the way you screamed when they tried the blanket over your crib. It took some figuring but we worked it out when they moved you to a separate quiet room. You were watching what was going on and did NOT appreciate the interrupted view. It never failed though; when you were getting tired, your Mother would call the nurses to bring you to her. She would rock you to sleep reciting whatever poem came to her mind then. We had discussed the topic to no end and decided to breast-feed you. Well, more correctly, your Mother chose to do so, but I agreed and still do to this day. It meant Diana was going to be off her medications a bit longer but we agreed it was better for you. Seeing you, so alive and healthy now, makes so much of the worry and indecision we went though all worth it. _

_You are our little miracle, Spencer. I hope you know that, but I want a reminder here. We both love you so much. _

_I've put different toys in this box. Some are Diana's, some are from my childhood, and others are things I'd love to see you play with now. It seems every time I bring home something I think you'd like to play with, your Mother is having an episode. You're only three years old, but you know how to calm your Mother down enough until I get home. _

_I hope you can enjoy the toys, maybe even with your own children one day. My little Spencer, I'm trying to picture you all grown up, but I don't want to lose the you that is here now. You'll be grown up so soon. _

_I want to write more but I need to sign off this letter now. You and your Mother are almost due back from the aquarium and I want to have this upstairs before that happens._

_I love you Spencer, my precious boy._

_Your Father,_

_William_

The pages fluttered to the floor from nerveless fingers. The tears that had been threatening for most of the letter finally fell. They fell and fell, making small plop-plop noises as they landed on his pant legs. His father had loved him. He had a sister. His parents had wanted him desperately. He had a sister he never knew about.

Thinking back over the years, it helped explain why his Mother's episodes were always worse in the spring. He thought it was the change in the weather, or at least as much of a change as Vegas ever had. Around Easter, his father would become melancholy for a few days too. That must be when Sera had been miscarried. He wanted to know. He wanted to know about his sister. ~_Maybe that's why I was willing to talk to Prentiss about my headaches, I wonder if Sera would've been like Prentiss._ ~

The tears slowly dried as he watched the birds in the neighbor's backyard tree flitter about. A cloud moved and a sunbeam filtered through the window to his chest. The warmth was welcome. Carefully wiping his face on his sleeve, Spencer reached into the box to see what his father had packed for him.

He pulled out a bundle of old comic books. Through his heartache, he couldn't help but smile at the character choice: _Captain America_. How fitting. He could share these with Jack. There was a stuffed bear and toy cars. Some lose cars that were obviously played with, some still in their packages, and some in collector boxes. He sighed and put the box aside. He had one more to go through then he'd start taking some of them downstairs. He couldn't afford to be sidetracked now.

The last box turned out to be more things from his Mom and Dad. Children's books, literature books, textbooks his Mother had written back in her teaching days the box was carefully packed. He wanted to look at them more carefully, but a glance at his watch confirmed he just didn't have time now. Aaron was due here within the hour.

Standing and stretching sore muscles, Reid began wrapping everything up. It took a few trips, and nearly smacking his head on the stair header more than once, but he moved the keeper boxes down into the hallway.

It had been a good day. He had so much to tell Aaron and they had decisions to make. Spencer knew his next trip to Vegas and visiting his Mom, he was going to see where his sister was buried. It was silly and somewhat illogical, but he needed to see for himself.

* * *

><p>A hearty laugh gives one a dry cleaning, while a good cry is a wet wash<p>

~ Puzant Kevork Thomajan

* * *

><p>Well, this started out as my Word War entry for the last Wednesday in March. It didn't go where I thought it was going - the letter surprised me probably more than it did you :-)<p>

I WILL get back to Reid's Surprise one of these days. I don't want to force the story and end up with sub-par chapters, especially at this point in the story.

Come join us on Facebook! We have a blast and there's lots of challenges to keep your fingers moving! D Claymore FanFiction is me!

TTYL,

Dragon


End file.
